distance does not make the
heart grow fonder

"YOUR FAMOUS, AMES!" Warren exclaimed, waving the newspaper in his hand frantically. He had the biggest grin on his face; eyes enlarged to show the vast enjoyment shining through his irises.

Amethyst had just walked into the guild and was bombarded with her guild members' awes and congratulations. They were so very proud of her. And she thanked them for it.

But that was about it.

No fame or recognition would deter Amethyst from moving on– moving forward. She had to. She had to continue walking up this rocky mountain, pouring her sweat, blood and tears into conquering each mission and returning home to keep her family sustained. Amethyst had to. She had to continue forward, no matter what. No. Matter. What.

Her love for her family, her desire to keep their guild up and running (even if they were only scraping by), created a distance between them all, a whole valley that separated two entities. The floor between them crumbled, metaphorical rocks crumbling into a dark abyss with its descent and crash never to be heard. Amethyst's family could only see her ahead, and not once did she turn around to look at them. All that remained in their vision was a purple butterfly that sat snug in between her shoulder blades, and perhaps that was the irony of it all.

She, who tried so hard to show her family love and affection by taking care of them, was slowly losing the bonds she cherished.

Romeo hated that.

No matter how hard her family tried to reach her, how hard Romeo tried to understand and comprehend her actions, Amethyst was alone on the other side. A lone gem with nothing but herself and a bunch of forgotten memories and aches in a world gone crazy, twisted and mundane.

Romeo hated that— really, he did.

He missed the old Amethyst.

The Amethyst that would sit with him and talk until their throats were dry, laugh until their stomachs hurt, run around until their feet ached and their knees gave out beneath them. He missed the Amethyst that acted her age and didn't shoulder burdens that were not hers to carry in the first place. Distress followed him with each encounter; his soulmate gradually became somewhat of a stranger. A stranger who would pop into the guild, drop some money, engage in light conversations and then leave once again.

But what could he do?

Amethyst was her own person, and Romeo could only do so much as her last remaining soulmate. He could only do so much with his own last remaining soulmate. Wendy wasn't here to guide him and care for him with her soft, lithe smiles and tender head pats. She wasn't here; it was just him and Amethyst. And Romeo refused to shatter their already fragile bond. He didn't dare prod into her emotional instability, not when he was just the same as her (if not worse in its own unique way).

So, Romeo simply followed in Amethyst's footsteps and began to secretly train his powers without his father knowing.

A desire churned deep within his gut; he needed to get stronger if he wanted to protect Amethyst in the future.

Romeo could no longer sit still, especially when another guild (one who would never dare touch them if Amethyst was back in town) began to bully Fairy Tail's weakest mages. Especially when they continuously failed every GMG. Especially when they became a laughing stock.

Romeo needed to get stronger. If not for himself, then for everyone else.

Sad, isn't it? How the children continue to flourish and work hard whilst the adults moped in misery. It was to be expected. Children were the future, after all.

And one day, they'd find peace.

One day.

──────〔🦋〕──────

Mathematicians call them twin primes:

they are pairs of prime numbers that are close to one another, almost neighbours, but between them there is always an even number that prevents them from really touching. Numbers like 11 and 13, like 17 and 19, 41 and 43. If you have the patience to go on counting, you discover that these pairs gradually become rarer. You encounter increasingly isolated primes, lost in that silent, measured space made only of number, and you become aware of the distressing sense that the pairs encountered up until that point were an accidental fact, that their true fate is to remain alone. Then, just when you're about to surrender, when you no longer have any desire to go on counting, you come across another pair of twins, clutching one another tightly.

— Paolo Giordano,
The Solitude of Prime Numbers